


i wanna cut to the feeling

by sulfuric



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Almost Crack, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, also theres a good amt of swearing fyi, i tried SO HARD to make it angst-free but alas, mentions of SQUIP stuff, this is really just a carly rae jepsen promo thinly veiled as a bmc fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: jeremy can sing but he won't let michael hear him. michael decides to embark on a Mission to change that and finds out that carly rae jepsen just might save the world, after all.





	i wanna cut to the feeling

**Author's Note:**

> this fic killed sunny happy birthday rovi
> 
> also i almost cried three times while writing this bc i thought too hard abt will connolly singing cut to the feeling

Michael’s a very musical guy. He spends a lot of time looking for new artists to listen to, and he’s rarely seen without his headphones hung around his neck. He plays guitar, ukulele, and piano, and he plays them _well._ He even sings. He sings in the shower, in the car, in Jeremy’s basement, on the street, alone in his room - you name a place, and Michael Mell has most likely at least hummed a random tune there. He’s a good singer, too. Really good, even. Some (just Jeremy, really) may say that his voice is that of an angel’s and that he’s actually really annoying because he’s good at _everything,_ but that’s just some people’s (again, just Jeremy’s) opinion.

So yeah, Michael can sing. Most people know that, considering he does it - most of the time without even realizing; if  he was aware of it even half the time he’d probably you know, _not_ \- anywhere and everywhere. But there’s something that most people _don’t_ know, something secret that really only Michael himself is privy to.

Jeremy can sing, too.

Now, he won’t admit it - no, he won’t even acknowledge it - but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Jeremy knows it. Michael knows it. He just has to _prove_ it.

It was never really a thing until after the whole SQUIP incident. You’d think that almost destroying the whole school (and maybe all of human civilization) would hinder a person’s confidence, right? Right. Jeremy was no more outgoing than he was at the start of junior year - he still stuttered when he spoke in front of people he didn’t know too well, and he still turned beet red whenever the slightest bit of attention was turned towards him, outside of the comfort of his friends. He was a lot more unsure in a  number of things, too, like making quick decisions on things from what to get for pizza toppings to figuring out how to react to Jenna’s latest gossip news.

But he’d become a lot more honest, too, with himself and with others. There was this new kind of vulnerability that Jeremy had to him, as if he’d torn down a few of the layers he’d spent so long building up to guard himself. Exposed, just a bit. And that slight exposure had led to a slightly more relaxed Jeremy - not that Jeremy had ever been uptight around Michael, barring the SQUIP incident and the first few weeks that had followed - which included, much to Michael’s surprise, some very soft singing in the car each morning.

Michael had driven Jeremy to school each morning since he’d gotten his license. (except for during the SQUIP incident, of course - Michael is starting to get really fucking tired of remembering all the things he’d lost, temporarily or permanently, because of that damn thing) Since they’d made up, it had become even more of a sacred tradition between the two. Those ten minutes in the morning - sometimes bursting with chatter and laughter, but more often a comfortable silence, bathed in the soft early morning light - are ten minutes that both Michael and Jeremy treasure for all that they are.

And lately, those ten minutes have been graced with the voice of one Jeremy Heere, singing so quietly that Michael can’t tell if he imagines it or not.

 

It’s two weeks after Michael decided for sure that yes, Jeremy was _singing_ in his car in the mornings, that he devises a Plan.

It’s a quiet ride that morning, a change from the past two, which Jeremy had spent

animatedly discussing the new ending he’d found in one of his old favourite games. He’d nearly _cried_ the day before while telling Michael about having to watch the main character’s dog sacrifice itself for him.

“I’m taking a break,” was all he’d said to Michael that morning as he slipped into the passenger’s seat, clearly still reeling from his latest playthrough.

“Alright,” Michael had said, chuckling while he pulled out of Jeremy’s driveway, turning the radio on as casually as possible.

And now they’re three minutes into their ten minute car ride, and Michael is just waiting for that now-familiar soft lilt to reach his ears. He turns up the radio a notch when Jeremy’s favourites come on, and lets hope do the rest.

Seven minutes in, Jeremy starts whisper-singing to some whimsy pop song that Michael can’t be bothered to recall the name of. This is where part two of phase one comes in - Michael had been waiting all week for a moment like this, and now was the time. He slides his thumb onto the middle part of the steering wheel as nonchalantly as possible, hovering over the volume control there. He waits a couple seconds before turning the volume down just one notch, then another. Jeremy’s voice is a tad more audible now, pulling barely above the buzz of the radio and-

He clears his throat very matter-of-factly, sitting up. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael can see Jeremy’s skin turning just a shade more red.

Michael sighs, deeply. “You know, I am gonna hear you sing - actually sing - one way or another, Jeremy.”

“You just fuckin’ try,” Jeremy replies, full-on smirk adorning his lips. And with that, it’s _on._

 

He figures that being sneaky is the only way to actually win, because while Jeremy is generally a pretty oblivious guy, once he’s aware that something’s going down? He’s _very_ aware. Hyperaware. So aware that the thing he’s being aware of is the _only_ thing he’s aware of, you know? But Michael knows this about Jeremy, so he can use it to his advantage. He just has to wait for the right opportunity.

After a couple weeks he decides that whole turning down the music slyly thing is over because Jeremy’s _definitely_ caught onto that by now. He moves onto simply just singing next, because Michael’s always found it hard not to join in when someone else starts - but apparently Jeremy doesn’t share that same compulsion. Or at least he fights it off really, _really_ well. After that he figures that he’ll just have to catch Jeremy in the act when he thinks he’s alone which is kind of a shitty thing to do, Michael knows, but hey - desperate times and all that.

But really, that’s kind of a stupid idea because Jeremy’s rarely alone and if he is it’s _with_ Michael so he’s never really _alone_ alone unless Michael’s like, not there, but then he’s not there and - you get the idea. Not gonna work.

So it’s a month since Michael had decided that this was actually a thing that he was going to pursue, whether Jeremy liked it or not, and it’s back to the drawing board. He decides to bring in the big guns.

 

**To: chrissy**

_chris i need your help_

 

She replies almost instantly, despite it being nearly one am on a school night. Michael mutters a quiet _nice_ under his breath as he opens the message.

 

**From: chrissy**

_What’s up? Everything okay?_

 

**To: chrissy**

_oh yea we’re good it’s just_

_jeremy_

 

**From: chrissy**

_Ahh_

_You know someday you’re gonna need to tell him how you feel_

 

Michael lets out a shriek/groan of embarrassment, letting his head fall down to hit the screen before frantically typing his reply.

 

**To: chrissy**

_oh my gOD_

_no not that_

_i mean Yes That Always That but not that right now jesus_

 

**From: chrissy**

_???_

_Michael Mell????? texting me late at night but it’s NOT about his big gay crush on Jeremy Heere?????_

 

**To: chrissy**

_u kno what_

_first of all die_

_second of all i am PERFECTLY capable of talking about jeremy w/o Talking About Jeremy_

_third of all weve had many late night convos that arent abt my big gay crush u liar_

 

**From: chrissy**

_Okay 1) no_

_2) If you have to say that you can talk about Jeremy without Talking About Jeremy whilst Talking About Jeremy then you’re just proving my point completely_

_3)  rare but k_

 

**To: chrissy**

_ANYWAY_

_u kno he can sing right youve heard him sing ?????_

 

**From: chrissy**

_YES_

_Only VERY briefly at rehearsal once before everyone else came but YES_

 

**To: chrissy**

_so he’s fuckign amazing right_

 

**From: chrissy**

_!!!!!!!!!!!_

 

**To: chrissy**

_and heere’s the thing he REFUSES to sing in front of me_

_like partly because i heard him singing rly softly this one time oh and also like when he makes those weird noises u kno the ones theyre like strangely melodic yea_

_anyway_

_so like i heard him sing one (1) time and he noticed that i noticed and now its kind of a Thing that he wont let me hear him but I NEED TO HEAR HIM_

 

**From: chrissy**

_Gay_

 

**To: chrissy**

_right??????????? anyway HELP_

 

**To: chrissy**

_Okay so I have an idea_

  


And now Michael is sitting in some weird kind of half divey half retro karaoke bar, trying to resist the urge to cackle like a supervillain. Except, his plan _isn’t_ about to be foiled. If all goes his way, phase two part one is about to be screaming (singing?) success. Apparently, Christine came here with her cousins at least once a month to belt their hearts out in varying stages of drunkenness. And it was wheelchair accessible! He was a bit wary at first, if he’s being honest, but just fifteen minutes into the night he made a mental note to never doubt Christine ever again, on anything. He’d been expecting it to be awkward or sweaty or uncomfortable or a combination of all three, but even Michael himself was finding the night to be going off to a great start. The energy of the place was _intoxicating_.

And it’s probably helping that Rich and Jake are up on the stage, singing (surprisingly well, actually, Michael had no idea either of them could sing) to that one song about pina coladas. It’s about as ridiculous as you would expect.

“This is so fun, isn’t this fun?” Christine gushes, leaning over to Michael and a very tight-lipped Jeremy just as Rich starts to hula dance.

“Oh, just the best - what do you think, Jeremy? You wanna get up there?” Michael nudges his friend several times, big teasing smile matching Christine’s.

He huffs out a short breath before turning to Michael. “No,” he says slowly, as if his throat is a pringles can and the word his hand stuck inside.

“You sure, Jeremy? It’s super fun, I promise.”

“Yeah, Jer, look how much fun they’re having up there,” Michael adds, gesturing toward the stage, Rich now making Jake do _wheelies_ while they’re still singing.

Jeremy snorts, letting his guard drop for just one second before his shoulders tense up again. “I’m having plenty of fun just watching,” he bullshits nonchalantly, leg shaking up and down.

“Kinky,” Jenna interjects, glancing up from her phone. Jeremy turns red instantly, stammering nonsense before slamming his head not so gently onto the table.

“It’s alright,” Chloe offers, patting his back gently. “I’m sure they’d be down with that kind of thing if you just asked.”

The table erupts into a whole new round of poorly-suppressed laughter while Jeremy just groans again. “Y’know, she’s probably right,” Michael says, wishing for Jeremy’s sake that he could drop it but then again, this is just too good of an opportunity. Unfortunately, due to weed and a one _very_ informative 2am conversation, Michael is the only one at the table that knows Jeremy would probably be very much into that. But Michael’s not going to think about that right now. Instead he settles for giving Jeremy’s knee a sympathetic pat.

Jeremy shoots up from the table, back ramrod straight for a split second before he fucking melts, sinking down into his chair and toward the floor. There’s a long, long sigh that comes out of his mouth before he takes his (still red) face out of his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Michael just sighs, and he pretends it’s more of a “oh this is such a funny night I love my friends” - because it is and he does - sigh than a “oh I’m kind of in love with this nerd” sigh. Even though both are very true, he knows he isn’t fooling anyone. A second later, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

**From: chrissy**

_Alright Mell tone down the heart eyes_

 

**To: chrissy**

_this is homophovbia_

 

That earns a snort from Christine, and Michael smiles.

 

**From: chrissy**

_Focus on the Mission loverboy!!!!!!!!_

 

Right, that.

“Hey, you know everything, right?” Michael asks suddenly, angling his body away from Jeremy and toward Jenna.

“Generally.”

“Did you know that Jeremy can sing?” At that, Jeremy tenses again and Michael bites back a smile.

“Really?” Brooke chirps, leaning her elbows down on the table to look at Jeremy.

“Yeah, and he’s really good, actually,” Christine interjects.

The entire table just stares expectantly and Jeremy ignores them profusely, instead intently watching Rich and Jake absolutely butcher the final notes of their duet, massive smiles all the same.

Michael leans right over him, speaking to Brooke. “His voice is unlike anything else - he’s really talent-”

“I am not!” Jeremy interrupts, voice edging on a whine as his cheeks flush red again.

“Staight? God, finally.” Rich arrives at the table, plopping back into his seat, shit-eating grin on his face. “Lemme know if you ever wanna have some fun,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows seductively. Jeremy chokes.

“Rich.”

“I meant as like a threesome thing, babe, don’t worry. I would never exclude you.” Rich leans over to kiss Jake on the cheek, then _winks_ at Jeremy who promptly dissolves.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Jeremy gets out, clearly desperate for a subject change. “Who’s going up next?” There’s already another group up on the stage, doing a _really_ good rendition of some old Destiny’s Child song.

“Why don’t you and Michael go, Jeremy?” Christine says, voice innocent enough, but her

eyes are full of _evil._

“Yeah, do something gay,” Jenna agrees.

“Or-” Michael starts, then realizes he has nothing to say. He really wouldn’t mind doing

something gay with Jeremy.

But Jeremy is persistent on ignoring all urges to perform, gay or otherwise. “I’m not singing.”

“But dude,” Jake protests, putting his palms flat on the table and leaning toward Jeremy, “they have Carly Rae.”

And Michael be fucking damned if Jeremy didn’t open his mouth with the beginnings of a _yes_ forming in his throat before he stops cold, eyes darting over to Michael. He freezes, swallowing his excitement, and leans back into his chair like the fucking asshole that he is. “No, that’s okay.”

“Fuck - fuck that,” Michael says then, standing abruptly. “You suck.” He points a finger at Jeremy’s chest as he says it, shaking his head. Jeremy bites back his self-satisfied smirk as Michael pushes his chair in roughly, marching up to the sign-up area without another word. He doesn’t look back, resisting the urge to _stomp_ all the way there.

Fine, if Jeremy was gonna be a stubborn piece of shit, then Michael would just have to… sing instead. As he writes his name down onto the club’s clipboard, he realizes that this really doesn't accomplish much in terms of the whole getting Jeremy to sing thing but whatever, right? _He_ was still allowed to have fun. And singing at Jeremy the entire time was just an added bonus, in two ways: Michael could unbottle his feelings in a casual friend way, and he could make his friend really fucking uncomfortable by never breaking eye contact. Jeremy _hated_ that - lost every single one of their staring contests since they were little, usually screaming and covering his eyes as he broke away.

This was going to be fun.

 

After a couple of numbers, it’s finally Michael’s turn. There’s screaming as soon as he gets on stage, clearly only coming from one table. Looking out into the crowd - if you can call it that - as he takes the mic, Michael spots Jeremy and sends out his best attempt at a glare. Jeremy just keeps on cheering, big smile on his face. He leans over to Christine and whispers something in her ear-

And then the music’s starting and Michael’s singing the opening lines to _I Really Like You_ by none other than the Queen herself. He’s definitely not a fan like Jake or Jeremy, but he’s heard this song enough times on the radio to know most of the words without needing the screen. So, he uses that luxury to spend his time singing directly to Jeremy because 1) it’s fun, 2) that sweet, sweet emotional release, and 3) Jeremy definitely would not clue into the fact that Michael was definitely singing these words to him and for him, in an absolutely non-platonic way. And how did he know this? Refer back to the point about his constant obliviousness, and see thirteen years of experience.

Back when Michael was upset that Jeremy forgot to give back his Pokemon Red cartridge after borrowing it for the whole weekend? He had _no idea_ that Michael was actually mad at him until Michael passive-aggressively muttered something about not being able to play while they sat on top of the monkey bars after school. Jeremy had been _shocked_ , then immediately launched into a million apologies and promises to give it back the next day.

When Michael came out - or, _tried to_ come out - to Jeremy? Yeah, that took some work. He’d eventually had to just point to the patch on his shoulder and deadass just fucking say, “I wear this because I am gay,” in those exact words. (“ _I thought it was just ‘cause you thought rainbows were cool?”_ _“Did you also think I said Jake Dillinger’s ass was nice because I thought it was cool?” “Oh.”_ )

Even after the SQUIP, it took a while for Jeremy to really realize the extent of the effect it had on Michael. Thankfully, they’d actually sat down and talked that one out before things got messy and yelly.

In all their thirteen years, Michael’s learned that if he wants Jeremy to know something, he has to actually tell him, not just expect him to pick up on it. And that’s helped their friendship loads - it’s a wonderful thing, communication. So yeah, Michael is pretty certain that if he sings a cheesy pop song about liking someone to the someone he likes that Jeremy isn’t going to realize it’s actually because Michael likes (correction: really really really really really really likes) him. And maybe it’s kind of shitty to use that knowledge to his advantage, but it’s a pretty big fucking relief to know that he can sort-of confess his feelings just by being affectionate around his best friend while knowing that he’ll never take it as anything more than platonic. It keeps him sane when it all gets to be too much.

Communication, y’know?

So this is another one of those moments, when he’s up there singing the words and Jeremy is mouthing them back which is, well, pretty fucking awesome. Michael’s belting his heart out, having what could be described as the time of his life. It’d be better if Jeremy was up there singing with him (at him, for him, about him, haha, whatever) but he’ll take what he can get. And if all he can get right now is a shadowy Jeremy shoulder-dancing in the distance, then Michael will gladly take that.

The rest of the club - but can he really call it that if they let high school students in? Whatever - the rest of the whatever kind of establishment they’re in seems to be getting into his performance too, actually cheering and clapping (horrendously off-beat, mind you) along. By the time he gets to the bridge, pretty much everyone in the room is fixated on him - but Michael can only really keep his focus on one person. (and we all know who that is.)

“ _Who gave you eyes like that? Said you could keep them?_ ” as he sings the lyrics Michael can’t help but be painfully aware of the truth behind them. Who decided giving Jeremy eyes like that would be a good idea? All shiny and proud, watching Michael from all the way back in the room, no staring contest related horror at all. And who the hell said he could keep them, tormenting Michael every day with their stellar ability to express emotion? And staring. Lovingly? Maybe. Staring at Michael in some kinda way all the way until the end of his performance.

Bastard. He really (really, really, really, really, really) needed to have a word with whoever was behind _that_ decision.

After the big defeat of karaoke night, Michael finds himself more discouraged than he’d like. It was an insanely fun night, don’t get him wrong - but the entire purpose of it had been to get Jeremy to sing, which had not happened, obviously.

But yeah, despite that disappointment, it was fun. After Michael, Christine had ended up going on and absolutely killing some ballad he’d already forgotten the name of. After the night was over, Christine told Michael she’d be sure to bring him along the next time she went with her cousins - he was looking forward to that. And the food was pretty good, too.

One thing he’s still upset? Kind of proud? Conflicted? about is the fact that his performance is floating around twitter, courtesy of one Jenna Rolan. It’s not like he’s worried he sucks - Michael has his insecurities, yes, but singing isn’t one of them. He knows he’s fucking good. It’s more of the whole “oh god so many people have interacted with this tweet and seen my face” thing that bothers him. Bother may be a bit too strong of a word; it’s more like a cup of  mild nuisance mixed with a teaspoon or two of dread. It helps (doesn’t help???) that Jeremy immediately gushes over how _amazing_ and _incredible_ it was whenever Michael brings it up.

Michael makes a mental note to bring it up more.

 _That’s_ one victory that’s come out of that night. Another definitely more unexpected one is the fact that Carly Rae Jepsen has… grown on Michael. Now, he’s normally the first person to let out a snort whenever Jake and Jeremy start talking about her, or her latest music video, or which song on the B-sides of E _•_ MO _•_ TION is the best, (" _Come on,_ First Time _is clearly the best song ever written.” “No way, Jerry,_ Store _trumps_ First Time _by a mile and you know it.”_ ) and… you get the point. Michael’s gotten to know a lot about Carly in the past year.

But now the information is no longer completely secondhand - he’ll never admit it (never) but the past week has lent him a slightly kinder ear toward the pop singer and, well, he’s spent the last few days eating every single judgemental word he’s ever had to say about her. Her songs are just really catchy, okay?

And even though Jake swears up and down that her music is just “fucking life-saving, bro”, Michael didn’t expect her to _literally_ save his life.

 

It’s a Friday morning when _Cut to the Feeling_ is released worldwide on itunes and spotify.

“Holy _fuck_.” Jake’s voice shocks the hall into silence, Michael and Jeremy turning to face him.

“What?” Jeremy asks, quiet and panicked as he side-eyes the now-staring hallways, shutting his locker softly.

Michael looks down at Jake, phone in his - shaking? are his hands shaking? - hands and face pale. Now Michael’s worried. “Are you alright? Did you forget to take your meds this morning? Do you need us to-”

“No, no,” Jake dismisses, ditching the three-seconds-from-dying look and actually _smiling,_ 300 watts. Now Michael’s _confused._

“What?” Jeremy repeats, impatient now.

Jake just takes his phone and holds it up to them, showing a twitter profile. “New. Single.”

And Jeremy’s eyes just go wider than Michael’s ever seen, sputtering at Jake’s screen. Then he does this weird kind of jumpy twitchy excited thing that is so fucking _Jeremy,_ and Michael nearly loses it right then and there.

“New! Single!”

“New single!”

“New single!”

The two of them continue on like that for a minute while Michael just stands there, nodding weakly at any passerby who decides to buy a ticket to the freakshow. He doesn’t blame them. Eventually, Jake and Jeremy calm down enough to realize the cruel caveat that lies in their excitement.

“Oh, dude, _fuck_.”

“What?”

"WiFi.”

“Wi - oh, my _god_.”

 

The Great Middleborough WiFi Crisis of 2017 had been going on for the better part of a month. There were days where where it was unbearable, and others where they almost felt like maybe they didn’t _need_ to have WiFi during the school day.

This day is not the latter.

At lunch, Jeremy is the last to arrive to their table, squeezing in on the end of one of the benches next to Michael. He immediately puts his entire torso on the table, burying his head into his arms and groaning loudly.

“I need them to fix the _fucking_ WiFi,” he says, but it comes out a bit more like, “Uh neem dmm fix fuckmmm wifi,” with his mouth pressed into his sleeves.

“I _know_ ,” Jenna whines, hands empty for the first time in her life. “I went over my data last week.”

“Like, you’d think they would at least try to help us out, considering it’s an international holiday and all.” Jake sits with head resting up on one fist, eyes dead inside - completely and utterly resigned to defeat.

“Holiday?” Christine’s eyebrows are furrowed together.

“New single,” Jake and Jeremy drone simultaneously, any sort of excitement left over from that morning just completely sucked out of them. Christine’s confusion does little to dissipate and Michael just mouths _Carly_ across the table at her, to which she nods as if Michael had just explained the secrets of the universe to her.

Brooke hums sympathetically, reaching across the table to give Jeremy a soft pat on the back, then the same for Jake. “There’s only… three more hours until school is done! You guys can listen to it as soon as you get home, right?”

“Yeah, three hours is nothing. Now stop moping and eat your lunches!” Chloe adds. Michael takes a second to forget about Jake and Jeremy’s suffering and studies Chloe - her tone is cold, as per usual, but there’s the slightest bit of warmth in the way her eyebrows draw down low. She shoots another expectant glare at Jeremy - now peeking his head up from his self-made cave of solitude - and her gaze shoots down to his sandwich (white bread with mayo and a slice of ham, fucking disgusting) then back up to him.

God, she has a lot more care in her than she’ll ever allow herself to let on. Michael finds himself smiling at Chloe, and when she meets his gaze she looks down immediately, but there’s the tiniest inkling of a smile on her face, too.

“Anyway,” she says abruptly, “Anyone see that hot math sub today?”

“Oh, god, I know.”

The table eases back into its normal chatter, conversations about hot math teachers and conspiracy theories and play rehearsal flying back and forth over the table. Michael’s about to launch into a summary of the last documentary he watched with Jenna when he notices a large blue mass to his right, crumpled over the table again.

“Hey, you alright?” he says softly to Jeremy, slightly nudging the boy with his hip.

Jeremy turns to rest his cheek on his arm, looking up at Michael. “Yeah, I’m just - I shouldn’t be so bummed about this, you know?” He sighs deeply, propping his chin up on his wrist. “Like it’s dumb but dad is out of town this weekend and I accidentally slept through my alarm so I couldn’t say goodbye, then we got assigned _oral presentations_ in English, and I could really use some new Carly Rae today and-”

“Jeremy, stop. You’re allowed to have feelings.”

And Jeremy really just has nothing to say to that, eyes wide and soft and mouth falling open just slightly as if he’d never dreamed to think those words before, never dreamed that he could believe them. And it’s already been A Day so when tears start to well up in his eyes, Michael swiftly grabs the headphones from around his neck and places them on Jeremy’s.

“No, no, you need them,” Jeremy protests quietly, blinking back the tears in his eyes. “I can’t.”

“C’mon, buddy, it’s the least I can do if I’m not driving you home today.” Friday was their night. Always had been - and the tradition was only reinforced after the SQUIP. First, they’d drive to 7-11 and grab slushies and snacks for the night. Then, they’d go home to either one of their houses - usually alternating each week - and play video games and eat crap all night. Sometimes they’d wake up tangled together in the morning. (Jeremy is a koala when he sleeps, he can’t help it. Or so he says.)

But Michael’s doctor had had to reschedule his appointment from last week, and lo and behold she decided that this was the week she’d desecrate their sacred day. “But hey, I’ll be there right after, okay?”

Jeremy nods, fingers playing with the hinges of the headphones. There’s a little bit of a smile on his face already.

“Okay.”

 

Jeremy has his bad days. He’s always had his bad days, but, well, now when he has bad days, they’re bad. Bad bad days. And it’s harder to tell what will set him off - one minute Jeremy will be great, ranting on about their latest playthrough or a new musical Christine showed him and then the next he just. Stops. Looks off into the distance with cloudy eyes and barely talks for the rest of the day.

It’s hard. Michael does what he can. He’s learned what he needs (no crowds, some sort of physical contact, time to slowly come back) just like Jeremy’s done for him. (quiet, someone to reassure him, very tight hugs)

And so Michael’s trying his very best not to worry himself into a ditch on the side of the road, but it’s hard. He cares, okay? Platonically. And sure, not-platonically. And maybe like, familially? Michael’s pretty sure he cares about Jeremy immensely in every way humanly possible. That much caring leads to an equal amount of worrying, evidently.

And Michael knows that today is most likely not a worse-case kind of day; there was no shooting straight up so his spine was like a rod, no conversations dropped cold, and thank god - no random bouts of incessant shaking, paired with stuttering so bad you couldn’t make out what he was saying. None of that happened, so it was probably just a normal crappy day made worse by crappy circumstances and crappy anxiety.

Still. He _worries._

Trying to set the worries aside, Michael turns on the radio. Turning the volume down to an acceptable level, (he should _really_ remember not to let Christine control the music next time she’s in the car) the song that was playing ends and the announcer starts to ramble on about afternoon traffic. _Boring,_ Michael thinks, reaching for the dial until-

“And now brand-new from Canadian pop superstar Carly Rae Jepsen, we have _Cut to the Feeling!_ ”

Consider all worries temporarily forgotten. Michael has a mission to complete, and this just might be the key. Turning up the volume, Michael starts in on committing all the lyrics to memory.

 

Ten minutes later, Michael’s car is parked outside Jeremy’s house. He sits for a minute or two with AZLyrics open on his phone, studying the screen with the most shit-eating of grins on his face. Today is the day. The day that Michael Mell will finally hear Jeremy Heere’s fucking angelic voice. Phone and slushies in hand, 7-11 bag on arm and schoolbag on - holy fuck, he has a lot of shit. It’s a good thing Jeremy gave him a drawer to leave his sleepover stuff in back in 8th grade or else Michael might not be able to make it from his car to the porch in one trip, probably foiling his master plan.

Slipping his phone (silenced, of course, he is a master of stealth after all) into his pocket, Michael shimmies out of the car and manages to get the door closed with his hip, nearly dropping the slushies in the process. He makes sure to press the lock button only once, avoiding the loud beep that would come with it. Stealth.

He creeps his way up to the front porch, fumbling with his keys to find the spare Mr. Heere had given him years ago. Opening the door as slowly and quietly (stealthily) as possible, he slips inside and shuts it again.

There’s some sound coming from farther inside the house - kitchen? Yeah, kitchen sounds about right - but no acknowledgement of Michael’s presence. So far, so good. He sets his 7-11 loot down in front of the door, hoping to remember it before the slushies get all watery but knowing he definitely won’t. Hey, sometimes sacrifices have to be made. It’s for the greater good.

Toeing out of his shoes, Michael tiptoes down the hall toward the kitchen. He can hear some awkward shuffling, the fridge opening, and it takes a second to actually register, but Michael’s hit jackpot. Jeremy is _singing_ \- no, scratch that, he’s fucking belting. Michael peers around the corner into the kitchen and almost falls over.

The first thing he notices are the socks - which are actually Michael’s socks, thank you very much. Jeremy is sliding around on the hardwood in them, jug of orange juice in hand. He’s doing this weird kind of butt-shaking/hip-popping, uh, _thing,_ and did Michael mention that Jeremy is only in his boxers? Because he definitely is quite the fucking sight at that moment in time: pink weed socks, pale blue boxers, and ratty old white star wars t-shirt. A fashion icon, truly.

His back is to Michael, facing the counter where he’s now pouring the orange juice into a glass, still sliding around on the balls of his feet dorkily as he goes into the second chorus of - you guessed it, _Cut to the Feeling_. Michael’s headphones are cradled around Jeremy’s neck, song blasting and fully intelligible. Thoughts of headphone damage aside, Michael is ready to die right then and there.

No amount of under-the-breath car melodies could have prepared Michael for _this._ Jeremy’s voice is so _soft._ It’s soft and sweet but it doesn’t lack in strength, not one bit. He’s singing the words loud and clear and everything is so smooth but there’s this? This slight undertone of - Michael can’t find the exact word for it, but something like rasp might start to do it justice. Even then, it’s higher than Michael would have expected, but it suits Jeremy perfectly. He’s getting to the bridge now, singing into his orange juice like a fucking dork. The dancing doesn’t look like it’s ever gonna stop.

It’s beautiful. _He’s_ beautiful. Michael wants to be held by that fucking voice. Carly Rae _who_?

So then, caught up in his big gay feelings, Michael does something he might regret. He peels away from the safety of his wall, waltzes into the kitchen, and starts singing. “ _Take me to emotion, I want to go all the way._ ”

Naturally Jeremy stops cold, freezing mid hip shake and whipping his head around faster than the current land speed record for any man-made vehicle. (over 750mph, if you were wondering) His eyes go wide, mouth dropping open in mortified shock. That, with the boxers and the orange juice that’s now sloshed over the edge of the glass and onto the floor, is quite the visual.

Michael just continues singing, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders and tossing it over to the dining room, sliding in the opposite direction across the kitchen. “ _Show me devotion, and take me all the way,_ ” he sings, breaking out some painfully lame dance moves of his own. If he’s a goof, then Jeremy will be a goof with him.

And Jeremy just bites his lip, humiliated expression dropping easily. He shakes his head at Michael’s awful take on the running man, begrudgingly taking the headphones out from the jack in his phone. Carly blasts out loud for both of them to hear and Jeremy narrows his eyes at Michael before huffing one last exasperated sigh. He knows he’s lost, but the smile breaking out onto his face tells Michael that he doesn’t really care.

“ _Take me,_ ” Michael sings, point-stepping at his best friend, “ _take me-”_

“- _take me all the way!_ ” Jeremy joins in, the two of them launching into the last chorus together, awful dancing and all. There might even be a couple of ballroom-esque twirls thrown in there amidst the jumping.

After what feels like two seconds but is really fifty-six, the song ends with the two of them standing much closer than Michael’s sense of self-preservation would like. The mutual out-of-breathness doesn’t help either. A shy sort of smile breaks out onto Jeremy’s face, sending an entirely new set of butterflies aflutter inside Michael’s stomach.

“So I guess you won,” Jeremy says then, breaking their trance-like silence. He clears his throat, blushing - holy fuck, is he _blushing_? - as he quickly looks down at Michael’s lips, biting his own.

Michael is about to pass out. He could sure use that slushie right about now. “Yeah,” he says, lack of breath having nothing to do with the song he just finished. Jeremy raises one eyebrow slightly (a skill Michael’s always been jealous of, but that’s not the point right now) and the stomach butterflies go into overdrive. If he had Jeremy’s level of awareness, Michael would think nothing of that - nothing of the lip bite and the lip glance and the thick swallowing and the breathlessness - but Michael does not have Jeremy’s level of awareness. Michael is very aware - slightly doubtful, maybe slightly insane - but _aware_.

Jeremy is _flirting_. Or at least he’s trying. Michael’s pretty sure the butterflies are now sentient flapping knives ripping open the inside of his stomach and his brain is going into overdrive. He could easily kiss Jeremy right now. It would be so fucking easy. Would - would he want that? Judging by the fact that neither of them have moved to a more heterosexual distance from each other, he’s pretty fucking sure that both of them would have no problem if Michael leaned in right then.

“Jeremy,” he starts, serious. Is he really doing this right now? Is he actually acting on his years-long crush because of Carly Rae Jepsen’s magical mood-setting seductive powers? Jeremy’s face is a beacon of shock and hope and fear all at the same time, and Michael takes a breath.

And then because he’s a fucking idiot and his brain short-circuits, this is what comes out of his mouth: “I didn’t just come here to dance.” And then he awkwardly - and I mean _awkwardly_ , sinking down slightly and reaching his arm all the way around Jeremy to the counter behind him - grabs the forgotten glass of orange juice and takes a swig, not once breaking eye contact with a bewildered and marginally deflated Jeremy, swallowing loudly. “If you know what I mean,” he adds, winking for good measure because if he’s gonna pull this shit, he’s gonna fucking commit.

Jeremy just melts halfway to the floor, groaning obscenely. “Oh my _god_ ,” he says, rolling his eyes and sighing and dragging his hands down his face all at once. “You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

“The _worst_.”

“But you love me.”

A pause. Then a sigh. “I know.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> of course jeremy is in love with him too, you fools
> 
> leave a comment to let me kno what u think of this monstrosity and also tell me your favourite carly rae jepsen song
> 
> and/or come yell at me on tumblr [@playertwojer](http://playertwojer.tumblr.com) (also if anyone were to ever draw art of jeremy dancing in his boxers while singing into a glass of orange juice i would,, , die)
> 
> EDIT ROV MADE [ART](http://dirovinare.tumblr.com/post/164359452780/show-me-devotion-and-take-me-all-the-way-i-made) FOR THIS IM OFFICIALLY DEAD NOW  
> DOUBLE EDIT STARMY ALSO MADE [ART](http://starsketch.tumblr.com/post/164396925045/i-wanna-cut-to-the-feeling-by-playertwojer-is-a) AND IM DOUBLE DEAD!!!!!!!


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